“So you have more dedication than I do.” Brad shrugged. “This is too damn comfortable to think about that mess. I’ve dealt with molestation cases. They never fail to twist my stomach.”
He nodded down the length of his body to the stone hearth and the unlit fireplace. If he breathed deeply enough he could catch the faint scent of ash. The last time he’d seen a real wood-burning fireplace had been in his childhood home. “You use that much?”
“Not much since Chris died.”
Chris. So that was his name. His gut tightened unexplainably. “Why not?”
From the corner of his eye, he observed the way she set her folder aside and turned to stare at the fireplace. An emotion he couldn’t name flickered across her expression. Regret? Remorse? Sorrow?
“I don’t really know,” she answered quietly. “I guess I just don’t think about it. I’d rather use the one in the guest room and cozy up in the bed.”
Oh yeah—that sounded heavenly. But her explanation didn’t quite make sense. Curious, he rolled onto his elbow again. “You have a fireplace in your guest room, which you like, but not the master bedroom?”
The faintest touch of pink crept into her cheeks. It vanished, however, as her brows puckered with a slight frown. “Yeah.” She heaved a sigh, pushed her hair behind her shoulder. “Chris didn’t like the idea of our clothes smelling like campfire.”
That had to be the single-most ridiculous thing Brad had ever heard. He arched an eyebrow. But the wistful look that settled into her pretty features gave him pause. Not wanting to know, but needing to hear the answer, he asked, “Do you miss him?”
She blinked as if he’d asked her whether elephants danced in the rain. Then her expression gave way to another curious frown. “Sometimes the stillness in the house makes me wish he were here.”
It was Brad’s turn to frown. He hadn’t anticipated such a blasé answer. In fact, he’d expected her to say yes.
Cassie continued before he could prompt for an explanation. “Don’t get me wrong, I loved him. But after he died, I realized our marriage was one pretty shell. When you took it off the shelf and opened it up, it was hollow inside.”
“How so?” The question rolled free before he could stop it.
Leaning back on her hands, she stretched her legs out in front of her. Her ankle came to a stop beside his hand. “We were really good friends. We got along well, hardly ever fought. But we never really connected, either.” She chewed on her lower lip for a moment then added, “I think we both settled.”
No man in his right mind would ever consider Cassie as settling. If someone legitimately thought he could do better, the guy had an ego that knew no bounds. “That’s crazy, Cassie.”
“Really?” She tipped her head to the side curiously. “In all the clients you’ve dealt with, all the cases you’ve handled, you’ve never met that couple who gets along so perfectly you can’t really understand why they’re getting divorced? You haven’t encountered the, I’m just not in love with him, reason for separating?”
Brad chuckled. “’Course I have. But that’s not settling—that’s a delusion with love. Everybody wants it. Then it’s never what they expected. And people move on, chasing something intangible, and they pay me lots of money to give them freedom.”
A wry twist settled into the corners of her mouth. “That’s awfully cynical. You don’t believe in love?”
Plucking at a carpet fiber, Brad considered her question. “I don’t know about love. I’ll pass on marriage…though I always kinda liked the idea of having a kid.” He shrugged again. “But I don’t really have time for kids, so it’s really a non-issue.”
She stared at him for a long moment, her wide eyes thoughtful, gnawing on that bottom lip once more. “What’s wrong with marriage?”
He let out a hearty laugh. “What’s wrong with marriage? Look in your file cabinets at the office. I can count on one hand—make that three fingers—the number of marriages I’ve seen that have lasted. My grandparents on both sides, and the elderly couple that lived next door to my mom growing up. Relationships are nothing but paperwork in the making.”